


Aperture

by Puniyo



Series: Chocolatier [8]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M, Photography, Sexual Tension, Sexual innuendos, a slight comedy, alternative universe, amateur fashion, dressing up, fluff and lemon, mentions of porn, ridiculous sarcasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-05-03 06:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14562444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puniyo/pseuds/Puniyo
Summary: ‘You’re not going to blackmail me to do porn, are you?’‘Only if you beg me to.’Yuzuru needs a portfolio and Javier offers to make him one.CHAPTER 2: Yuzuru loses his voice in a photoshoot for female lingerie. Javier finds it terrifically sensual.[UPDATED AND COMPLETE 28/07/2018]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mother_North](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_North/gifts).



> My dear readers, this is an impromptu idea based on an interview I watched a couple of days ago (not related to either Yuzuru or Javier). It is a rather cliché story that's why I tried to give it a more comedic tone (especially after all the dark material in my latest works). 
> 
> This is also dedicated to my partner in crime, Mother_North, more like an offering to her altar (pun intended - she knows why :P), for her amazing writing, but even more amazing friendship (I took some liberties with Boyang and milkshakes :P) 
> 
> I must say though, that I have absolutely no knowledge of photography and I have never willingly put makeup on my face so please pardon me on the not so realistic or even proper details. I just needed a break from uni papers. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and in no ways reflect the people mention.

Here is he again, siting in the same chair, at the same table, in front of the same café, under the same shade of this same checkered canopy. It is the only food establishment that he knows in this area, the most discrete one he thinks, where he could cry (but he won’t) without people bothering him about the one thousand and one reasons for the tears that he would have to dig one thousand and one lies to cover them.

He already knows the answer on the e-mail he had received just now but he does the anxiety and self-loathing trip anyway because this profession unwittingly developed a masochist persona to fuse with his usual enthusiasm (maybe once a month only). He reads the message his manager had sent him (and with a mocking golden star, that wasn’t really anything insulting, but he doesn’t understand why Jeffrey still does it) and he puts down the phone. The bridge of his nose hurts so he removes his glasses as well.

_I’m sorry Yuzuru. Miss D was really into your charm but the majority voted for Radford. Don’t despair. It was just a magazine anyway. Remember that you have an audition next week. I’ll send you the details later._

What could have been the motive to reject him this time, he wonders. Maybe he would have another bullet point filled on his notepad, and he would write it in fuchsia ink. All the black characters looked too dull already – he looks too young (he has been trying to grow a beard since last week), too pale (he shifts his chair slightly to the side so that he is not under the shade anymore), too skinny (he is having a maple syrup, white chocolate milkshake, massively topped by milk chocolate whipped cream the size of mount Fuji, but he coughs at the sprinkled cinnamon), too feminine, too focused, too short, too _something_.

‘Is this seat taken?’

Yuzuru was so lost in his own internal encyclopedia of how to survive a rejection that he barely noticed the man who was approaching him now. Blue polo shirt with sunglasses tucked in the open collar, light brown chinos and matching mahogany belt and leather shoes – not bad of a choice of outfit.

‘Yes, it is.’ Yuzuru was in no mood for trivial chit-chat. Better repel the mosquitos before they bite you.

‘I’ll keep you company then until your date arrives.’ And he sits, open posture, legs apart, _Americano_ on the table, the piquant scent of coffee accentuating his (apparent) maturity.

Yuzuru decides to name him the ‘nutman’. He had a walnut glossiness to his curly hair, a pair of hazelnuts for eyes and his shaved face was the smoothest almond shell (he loved almonds and ate them almost every day). Not bad. Not bad at all. In any other day, but not today, Yuzuru would have found an excuse to propose some in depth exploration of the human body and offer himself as the mannequin for these scientific examinations, hopefully reaching a very fruitful conclusion in the form of an orgasm.

The stranger just sits there across him and studies all his movements. He finds himself straightening his back, adjusting his glasses, and scooping another spoonful of cream that almost falls onto his lap. He is not quick enough to retrieve his folder next to the napkin dispenser and ‘nutman’ is already flipping through the pages, his expression a hybrid between a wince and a smirk, his chuckles contained by the large sips of hot coffee he drinks (but he almost chokes as well).

‘What are these?’

‘Rectangular pieces of light-sensitive paper, some 4x6 and other 5x7, also known as photographs. Have you heard of them before?’

The stranger takes another sip of his coffee and he really laughs this time, not at all looking apologetic. ‘When were these taken? Last century?’

‘Give them back.’

‘Well, they’re not so bad if you really squint your eyes. You could actually win an award when they make a remake of _Titanic_ and Jack draws you instead of Rose. Including the leopard print.’

‘As if you could do better than that.’

The stranger’s sarcasm is sorely irritating. He snatches back the folder, open exactly at that photo. Yuzuru blushes with honest embarrassment. What? It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t afford to hire Patrick Chan, the artist of the moment, to kindly take a few pictures. One from his viewfinder would have cost him a kidney and counting all his internal organs, he probably would have a collection of five. A leaflet for display. He was extremely grateful (for the intention, not the results) when his flatmate _Tian Tian_ (Boyang’s own chosen pseudonym because he would be famous one day and being called ‘sky’ was definitely more attractive than being called ‘ocean’) borrowed a digital camera from his father, one that he had to unearth from the dusty boxes in the attic of his grandmother’s house (and taking the opportunity to ask for a blessing from his ancestors). He was an artisan of his own, but he could have had a few more lessons on human anatomy, color theory, and most importantly, photography. At least his copy of _Adobe Photoshop_ was a legal and updated one. Probably.

‘I am definitely better than _that_.’

Yuzuru wonders how a man can have so many shades of brown in the same frame. Brown, a hue from Autumn, sophistication and tact. And his accent too, light, tiptoeing the lower octaves of a piano, funny in his own way. Handsomely arrogant, but he didn’t have to say that last point out loud.

‘Don’t you know who I am?’

‘No.’ Yuzuru’s answer comes really quick. ‘But _rude_ and _bastard_ must be your middle names.’

‘Javier Fernández.’ The stranger leans forward and extends his hand. ‘That’s my name.’

‘Yuzuru Hanyu.’ He takes that hand and the grip is firm. Even his arms are brown, tanned, caramelized chestnut muscles. It must feel great to be held in them.

‘I’m interested in you.’

‘I’m not.’ Maybe just a little. Like that extra percentage of humidity that makes a summer day unbearable. ‘I bet you couldn’t even pay my going rate anyway.’

‘Try me.’

He was just joking. Did Javier ‘Nutman’ (rude and bastard – perhaps rude, not a bastard definitely) Fernández really believe in that insinuation?

‘Tell you what,’ Yuzuru slurps the last of his milkshake through the red-striped straw, ‘make me a portfolio worthy of your standards, and I will _entertain_ you.’

‘Deal.’ Javier stands up and waves his hand to the passing cars. A taxi pulls over after a couple of minutes.

‘Where are we going?’

‘My place.’ He enters first and pats the leather covered empty next to him. ‘My equipment is there, unless you want to use the twelve megapixels of my phone.’

‘Only the best.’

 

The ride through the streets, filled with obnoxious traffic lights that only turned red when they approached, is a very quiet one. Yuzuru can’t stop fidgeting his fingers and his dark hair is soon a mess from pulling, combing, patting to the sides, and pulling again. Going to his Javier’s apartment. Isn’t this the kind of dangerous situation movies always depicted? Going to a stranger’s apartment (he was no stranger, he was Javier ‘Brown Nuts’ Fernández, whoever he truly was), maybe an ostentatious luxurious avant-garde penthouse (did he have a private jacuzzi and a champagne pool?), and then he would be tricked into stripping in front of the camera and do some scenes for a porn movie (he had never acted in porn movies, would he actually succeed in one?).

Javier senses his internal monologue and puts a hand on his knee. ‘Relax. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to.’

So now he could read minds. ‘You’re not going to blackmail me to do porn, are you?’

‘Only if you beg me to.’

Yuzuru expels a sigh of relief, one that he regrets almost instantly, when he sees the handsomely arrogant man eye him with what he believes was an ounce of disappointment. So he actually likes begging, or porn, or both.

‘Well _Javi_ ,’ because calling him Javi was easier than Javier, and… were his cheeks turning pink? ‘I’m not, you know, a prostitute, escort boy, you name it.’

‘I know.’ Javier gives a few more directions to the driver and leans back again. He reaches for his wallet and takes out a couple of blue paper notes. ‘You’re too beautiful not to be taken, _Yuzu_.’

 

Effie is the first thing that jumps to him when they finally enter the apartment. Not a thing, Yuzuru corrects himself, the fluffiest and fattest Calico cat he has ever seen. The condo is not that large, there aren’t Mulberry silk curtains draping over Vucana wool tapestries, but it emanates a sense of belonging and home that his own place lacks. There are magazines splattered across the sofa, Effie’s fur on the rugs (she refuses to leave Yuzuru’s warm embrace even when Javier tantalizes her with a new can of tuna), but also cameras, detached lenses, tripods, and all other extra equipment he doesn’t even know the names of, on a glass cabinet next to the television set.

It doesn’t look like a porn studio.

‘Do you want to take a shower first? I need to… clean a little.’

‘Are you sure?’ Yuzuru had never taken a shower on the locations of his previous auditions. But then, he never had an audition on someone’s home. ‘I didn’t bring a change of clothes.’

‘Just wear mine. I’m sure they will fit.’

If Yuzuru was nervous, the hot water has just washed all his worries. Javier’s living room might need some organization but his bathroom was immaculate. Towels hung in the proper rack, toothbrush and paste in a glass cup, and bottles of shampoo, conditioner and gel douche aligned next to the shower tap. Chocolate, lime and vanilla, he just tries all of them, the subtle aroma of that three-layer parfait probably seeping through the closed door into where the (perhaps really honest) stranger was.

He steps out back to the common room, just a plain yellow shirt and the grey boxers that perfectly hugged his buttocks. His hair is dripping wet and he turns back to retrieve the used towel, but Javier calls him and he stops immediately, his feet glued to the wooden floor.

‘Wait! Don’t go. Don’t look at me too.’

Yuzuru hears the pressing of the shutter. Oh, the photoshoot had started and he wasn’t even aware.

‘Great. The lighting is perfect. You’re one lucky man Yuzu.’

He sits next to Javier, who shows him the image his lenses had just captured. ‘Maybe you’re the lucky one.’

Another click. The expression of a cocky boy.

‘So what should I do? Where should I stand? Want me to lie down?’ Lying down wasn’t a bad idea, especially if not alone, Yuzuru thought.

‘Just be natural. Do whatever you want. I’ll follow you.’

‘Anything?’

‘ _Anything_.’

Photoshoots are never free and never natural. There are always impossibly uncomfortable positions that probably only contortionist would find pleasant, endless blinding flashes that would cause glaucoma to anyone, and one thousand and one eyes devouring him. But now, he can’t lie to the camera. He doesn’t want to lie. He wants to give _everything_ to Javier. To the portfolio, he means. The product, not the producer.

Yuzuru wanders around the condo, he pretends to spy on the neighbor downstairs and the ones in the block in front with imaginary binoculars, he plays with Effie on the floor, rolling with her, letting her sandpaper tongue lick the tip of his nose, lifting her meaty, cushioned paws. He turns on the TV, pretends to watch a program, not interesting at all, some more zapping, and he moves on to the collection of CDs.

‘Do you like jazz, Javi?’

‘It relaxes me.’ He puts the camera away for a second. For some other model, walking around would be already a strenuous task and rare were the ones that knew how to elegantly pose. But this sugar addict, foul-mouthed boy was completely different. His movements were crude, not planned, untimed, unpredictable, but beautiful, oh so beautiful, a fine-cut diamond already lost in some abyss, a living _David_ that would have Michelangelo kissing his feet. He wanted to throw himself at those too. He looked curious, innocent, naïve, and all this made him all the more sensuous.

Maybe he should have proposed some porn. He would then have an excuse to justify the bulge in his home jeans. ‘It is good for a game of seduction.’

‘To seduce or being seduced?’ Yuzuru leaves the records alone. None of them answer the question anyway.

The kitchen is not necessarily a typical place for photos but Yuzuru is looking for a drink more than continuing challenging Javier. He opens the fridge, drinks directly from the milk bottle, a trail of white running down his chin to his neck, which he wipes not-so-promptly with the back of his hand. He scoops a dollop of smooth peanut butter and he licks it, his pink tongue sliding up and down his middle finger, he drinks directly from the tap of the sink, he looks inside the toaster, wraps himself in the watermelon pattern tablecloth, all the while stealing a few glances at Javier. Just glances, nothing more.

A game of seduction, right?

‘Can I go to your room?’

Javier only nods. Two people, two men, a camera, and a bed – what else could there be?

Yuzuru throws himself to the black silk sheets, a sharp contrast to his pale skin. The mattress is so comfortable he almost falls asleep. He closes his eyes and inhales the lemon and musk odor in them, and he’s glad that the white shirt is rather long, or he would need to ask for a few minutes break. The less he thinks, the better, so he keeps exploring. He tries the cowboy boots, the turquoise wig, the strands sleek and straight to his shoulders, the purple an even longer ponytail, and then an orange pixie cut one. They both laugh at the absurdity of Yuzuru’s look but Javier has a hard time controlling his trembling hands when the younger man tries a pair of lace stockings with a garter belt.

And then there is makeup. Red vivid lips that he soon smears to his face, a kiss on a tissue, more lipstick of other shades, golden plumpness, gloss. Yuzuru wipes off the fruity brilliance but his hands stop as he stares at the complete disarray he has caused. Women’s accessories, women’s maquillage – a knot takes hold of his gut.

‘Relax Yuzuru. These are tools of my trade. I don’t have a girlfriend.’

Maybe Javier could really read minds.

Yuzuru sits at the edge of the bed, his fingers fidgeting again like when he was in the taxi. ‘I want… I want some more daring photos.’

The older man puts down his camera, their eyes finally meeting directly. ‘You need to be in a special mood for those.’

‘Put me in the mood then. Don’t you want it too?’

There are many questions left answered between them but he could care less about the replies. Javier kisses him even before he has time to stand up, their mouths meeting in a strong clash, and his back meets the mattress again. The kiss is so hungry they can’t breathe but none has any intention to halt it. Javier sucks at Yuzuru’s lower lip, tasting the remnants of sweet gloss and his saliva, and he plunges his tongue in that hot cavity when the younger man moans for him. He is straddling Yuzuru, the cold zipper of his jeans meeting the wet fabric surrounding the leaking erection, the gorgeous rose tip peeking through the elastic waistband.

Damn, he can’t miss this opportunity. His camera drenches in Yuzuru’s lust and his own desire, the erotic vulnerability of his heaving chest and parted lips, the still damp hair on his forehead, and the dark piercing eyes that glared at the lenses with wanton. Not for him.

Jealousy is a monster and Javier is jealous of his own equipment. Very unprofessional. He tickles Yuzuru, a revenge for exposing completely to artificial machinery but not to him. There are giggles, Yuzuru contorts in his touches, and he tries to hide in the pillow. His (failed) attempts to escape are his surrender. Temporary surrender. He supports himself in the elbows after a few more shutter clicks and he reaches for Javier’s hips, fingers pulling down the zipper and grabbing the hardened manhood with no hesitation.

The older man flinches, a very loud gasp escaping his own lips. ‘That’s not very sexy.’ (He actually think it is) ‘But _continue_.’

Javier lavishes the boy underneath him. He sucks his Adam’s apple, the mole along his jawline, he bites his collarbone, the bruised patch of skin perfectly matching his fine porcelain skin. He didn’t know he could elicit such _indecent_ and _dirty_ sounds from Yuzuru with a single lick on his perky nipples. There is a pair of pearl clip on earrings in the bed and he takes them, the metallic cuff squeezing the sensitive buds, pain and pleasure mixing in his face.

The best photo is when he enters Yuzuru, his pulsating cock penetrating the molten tightness, his own mind shutting for brief seconds of eternity. Yuzuru has his eyes closed too, cheeks flushed, sweat running down his temples and toned abdomen. He cries obscenities, and _more_ , and _Javi_ , and tears pour from his eyelids like tiny drops of crystal.

Yuzuru doesn’t know Javier is still taking photos. He can’t even think. He only feels.

 

When Javier wakes up (when did he actually fall asleep?), Yuzuru is nowhere to be found. His camera rests on the pillow next to him and a handwritten note is below it.

_Find me. I’m not taken._

 

Here is he again, siting in the same chair, at the same table, in front of the same café, under the same shade of this same checkered canopy. This time, Yuzuru has ordered a cappuccino (with caramel syrup) and he is again waiting for that star e-mail from his manager.

‘Is this seat taken?’

He smirks as he scoops the foam with powdered chocolate on top of his drink.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘I’ll keep you company then until your date arrives.’

Javier puts a rather thick envelope on the table but his hand does not leave it. They both know perfectly what is inside.

‘Did you look for me only because of my beauty?’

‘That too. But I would like to know you better.’

Yuzuru genuinely smiles. ‘Hi, my name is Yuzuru Hanyu.’ And he extends his hand.

‘Hi. I’m Javier Fernández.’ And he takes that hand.


	2. Exposure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuzuru is the model of a new line of female lingerie but he has lost his voice. Javier finds it terrifically sensual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, I needed to get this out so I can go back and face life and my problems. This is probably one of the most ridiculous pieces I've ever written and I guess it shows how sarcasm has taken my life. This is supposed to be somehow comedic but it really turned out more ridiculous than anything. 
> 
> I know nothing of photography, much less fashion, so please don't throw me daggers. I just wanted to write some fun. Read at your precaution. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of FICTION and in no ways the characters described reflect their real life counterparts.

‘Never trust medical recommendations online’ is a good advice, but ‘never trust those who are skeptical of the powers of the world wide web’ is even better. He clicks on the first link, irrelevant long definition of _aphonia_ (two pages and half, seriously?), second link, the magical properties of _Chamaemelum Nobile_ (how does one even pronounce that?), third link… bingo!

He is sitting on the kitchen counter, literally on the greyish quartz laminate, since that it’s a privilege you are entitled to once you’re not under your parents’ roof anymore, and he looks at the items on the dining table. Surely this would be easier than posing for a pillow advertisement and pretend to be asleep without twitching your eyelids, or simpler than pretending to be in love with a parking meter (now he could be famous on books about paraphilia).

_Directions:_

_1\. Rinse the chamomile flowers in cold water._ (Done.)

 _2\. Put some water to boil._ (Would one cup be enough? But then water evaporates a lot. Okay, he puts two cups).

 _3\. Pour the boiling water in a teapot, add the chamomile flowers and let it steep for five minutes._ (It smells like Spring, like freshly washed sheets, like dew after a raining night on wild grass.)

 _4\. Add one teaspoon of honey._ (It is supposed to have antibacterial and healing properties, so he adds an additional spoon, one and half. He licks the round utensil, the sweetness coating the insides of his mouth and lighting fireworks on his tongue, so he adds an extra three quarters of the amount of the spoon.)

 _5\. Add a dash of lemon juice._ (A dash? He has lemon slices because Javier is a citrus freak – who bites lemons when they are stressed? – and it is a wonder how he hasn’t turned sour – perhaps the small lines around his eyes are due to it. Javier looks charming with them though, but that’s another confession he doesn’t need to tell him.)

_6\. Drink while it’s still hot._

Yuzuru stirs his concoction without the chanting because the magic is supposed to be there already. The tea is cloudy, more olive than a dandelion shade, a rising trail of steam from it that twists into different shapes. He takes a sip carefully not to scald his extremely sensitive tongue.

It’s disgustingly sugary with a tangy bitterness of charred yellow peel. Yuzuru loves it.

He flumps onto the second hand couch, worn out and with questionable stains that weren’t just remains of food, and he turns the TV on, seeping occasionally on the medicinal brew (hopefully with immediate effects – there is no time for delayed gratification). Most channels have the same formula of afternoon talk shows, how to roast whole chickens (and your husbands altogether), the best traction wheels for your car. He leaves it on _Pokémon_ (at least Pikachu looks decently cute). The episode is not so bad, although a little repetitive – a trainer with tiny balls that can be augmented and idiosyncratic creatures will jump out of them.

[17:18 Javi] Hey! Back to town. Surprise for you.

A surprise? Maybe a pókeball. He wishes he could have a few of these experimental spheres and capture Javier. Encapsulate and release him, shrink and enlarge the balls. A pókeball, not _his_ balls (not that he wouldn’t play with those too). Yuzuru turns off the TV, the colorful animation now deceptively showing its true colors.

[17:20 *Jeff*] Do you have a minute? Massimo wants you again.

He finishes the chamomile tea, the lukewarm brew sliding past the inner walls of his throat. They feel weird, a little scratchy and ticklish. He tries a vocal warm-up exercise, relax the shoulders, lean the head on both sides, deep breathing, a ‘la’ instead of a ‘ma’ – no sound comes out. He tries again and Yuzuru can almost see the mute puff of air being expelled from his mouth.

_And the award for the most dignified way to lose one’s voice goes to Yuzuru Hanyu! Congratulations Yuzuru! Any words for your acceptance speech? Oh wait, you can’t talk._

[17:21 Yuzuru] Who is alive always shows up.

[17:22 *GoldenBoy*] Another job?

[17:23 Javi] I want to see you.

[17:23 *Jeff*] He wants to see you.

The notification tone of the incoming messages is plain annoying. He makes a mental note to change Javier’s snippet to _Sleeping Beauty_ – it couldn’t be more appropriate.

[17:25 *Jeff*] Did you forget about the party tonight?

[17:25 Javi] I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. Are you mad?

[17:26 *GoldenBoy*] I’m not feeling well. I can’t speak.

[17:27 Yuzuru] No. Who would be when your partner disappears for one month? Nonsense.

[17:28 *Jeff*] You’re the star of the night! You must come. I’ll be there for you.

[17:29 Javi] How do I make this better?

[17:30 Yuzuru] I’m not angry.

[17:30 Javi] You are.

[17:31 Yuzuru] I’m busy tonight.

[17:32 Javi] I love when you’re angry. Your hole gets so tight around me. It’s the best punishment I can get.

Yuzuru hates when Javier goes into the uncharted territories of their bed activities (less of a bed nowadays and more of kitchen counters, toilet cubicles or simply the wooden flooring of their hall) for forgiveness. It stirs something in his blood, which happens to have travelled south and threatening to feed his erection. His hands type a quick reply, only to send it to the wrong person. _Oh shit!_

[17:34 *GoldenBoy*] Fuck you.

[17:35 *Jeff*] I would love to my Yuzuru. But Justin is doing the night shift today so he can’t suck off my cock now. Can I take that as a yes that you’re coming?

[17:36 *GoldenBoy*] Sorry! It wasn’t for you.

[17:37 *Jeff*] Take it easy kid. I would be happy if my boyfriend was promising me sex over the phone.

[17:38 *GoldenBoy*] He is not.

[17:38 *Jeff*] Then you should. Be ready in two hours.

He has the best manager in the world – who else would bring you coffee for the auditions, pat you in the back when things went wrong, and tell you the best deals of the sex shops around the city? Yuzuru does send the _fuck you_ to the proper recipient and he throws his phone to the nearest cushion, a shower and shaving due for tonight.

 

 

The large lounge room was more of an itinerant discotheque than an _haute couture_ event. The music was deafening loud and it only played on his favor when the random guests tried to make contact with him. He could always blame on the blonde-bleached DJ (who was quite similar to Javier, only that his arms were covered in tattoos of vines and grapes) when people couldn’t hear him. Not that he could actually talk either.

‘You look dashing tonight, my muse.’ He had to agree that the blue silk shirt with a few platinum thin stripes complemented his figure perfectly, together with the black pants and leather shoes. It was like strolling through the streets of Paris, as his manager told him, _une Parisienne Walkway_. ‘Though I still prefer you with less clothes on.’

Massimo Scali shook Jeffrey’s hands but Yuzuru was greeted with the kind of hug that mimicked a martial art move, not advisable for people with brittle bones. The Italian designer smelled of rich cologne of sandalwood, of forests and exoticism, and he wondered if he would ever have the money to buy the same.

‘I hope you’re feeling better. Here,’ Massimo took a glass of champagne from the passing cater waiter, ‘medicine for you. I’ve reserved you a seat.’

The cold bubbly elixir was pure joy for his sore throat and Yuzuru nodded with gratitude as they parted ways, he and Jeffrey to the main table and Massimo to the stage for the presentation of his new fashion line, _Salvia_.

Needless to say, the host table wasn’t empty (who wouldn’t want to sit with the Italian designer?), but Yuzuru wasn’t expecting the find both Patrick Chan and Javier ‘Nutman’ Fernández’ next to each other, exchanging brief words that he could barely hear. He sits the furthest away from both of them, pretending not to be affected by his presence. Javier’s almond gaze, even in the dimly lit room, searched and burned into his skin. It was like being exposed to his meticulous lenses again, naked, all his actions captured by the camera. He took the champagne flute to his mouth again, the last drop wetting his lips.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t want Javier to lick it and feed him more.

‘Do you know each other?’

‘We,’ Javier diverted his eyes to his own plate, a miniature salmon canapé there, ‘we had a few misunderstandings on the creative department. We’re not acquaintances anymore, are we?’

The younger man tries to say ‘no’ but the monosyllable proves to be a challenge and he shakes his head in frustration.

‘Was I too rough on you Yuzuru?’ Patrick takes a sip of his own red wine. ‘I shouldn’t have got carried away.’

Yuzuru recognizes the glimpse of confusion in Javier’s eyes and a smirk invades his lips. They both loved power games and having the upper hand did wonders to his libido.

‘Dear all,’ the music had faded and all the attention was locked on Massimo, ‘it is my greatest pleasure, and yours too, to officially launch this new line of underwear that I’ve been carefully studying, and practicing too if you allow me. Whether it’s for you or for your loved one, you will sure to find something acute to your tastes. Now, I believe that most of you agree that wearing nothing is the most comfortable, but I still need my job, and after you seeing my muse, I bet you’ll not just want to wear my pants but also wear him. Cheers!’

The round of applause echoed through the walls and curtains and the clink of crystal glasses and tumblers were like collective fireworks set off simultaneously. Yuzuru didn’t notice in the commotion that Javier had moved places, sitting right behind him. His breath on the nape of his neck sent shivers down his spine and his whisper tickled his ears. He would have moaned right there if he hadn’t lost his voice.

‘Rough, was it?’

Yuzuru refused to turn back and clenched the flute in his hands a little stronger.

‘Let me share with you today a few of my favorite shots.’

Different photographs illuminated the over-sized screen next to the Italian designer. All of them were of Yuzuru’s and he felt his cheeks flare up as the slide show continued, supplemented with Javier’s own subtitles and a lingering hand on his butt and inner thighs. He with grey briefs and a net of diamonds and sapphires draped from his neck over his pectorals and nipples, the knots of a millionaire’s bondage rope, ‘would you like me to tie you, Yuzuru?’, he on white, almost hiding nothing of his intimate parts, with a crown of swan and peacock feathers and a red velvet cape, ‘or would you like to tie me, your majesty?’, a simple photo of him in black trunks, gold waistband, his face covered with a mask but the marble of his eyes dark and focused, piercing the one behind the lenses, ‘were you thinking of me? Of how I fucked you against the wall?’

He tried to squirm in his cushioned chair, flee from the caresses that were threatening to ruin his pants. It only gave easier access to Javier and facilitated his navigating fingers down the inseam to his crotch. Luckily, everyone had their attention converged into the pictures of him, their focus undiluted.

Yuzuru inhaled deeply of relief (it was disappointment but he wouldn’t admit) when a new round of applause started, all the guests up on their feet, Salvia proving to be an instant success.

‘Now ladies, this next surprise is for you, but not for exactly for you.’

A collective gasp reverberated through the room when the new picture flickered on, a _femme fatale_ Yuzuru, long eyelashes hidden behind the purple frame of large glasses, lips glowing with pink gloss, black lace and matching panties. He sat on a mattress devoid of sheets and was trying to buckle a garter belt. And another one, this time an angel, a natural smile, almost like a child, eyes closed, trying to be coy, and a pair of hands on him, loosening the ribbons of a see-through bra.

‘A new line of _female_ lingerie, provocative, model not included, for your husbands, boyfriends, less than husbands but more than boyfriends toys, to spoil you and bring out the beasts in you. And for the men present today, there are still frees rooms upstairs, the hotel staff told me, in case you might need them later.’

Those were truly captivating photos, the balance of light and shadow properly adjusted, every single piece with a touch of designer. And yet, all the eyes were now searching for the boy in the lingerie. Everything was changing so fast and by the time the commotion calmed down and Massimo joined them at the table, Yuzuru had a couple of card keys on his pockets that he has no idea how they materialized there.

‘Yuzuru, my muse, are you happy with the final result? Jeff had already seen them,’ his manager nods, a proud smile on his face, ‘but I had him take a pact of blood to swear secrecy.’

‘Sorry Yuzuru, it was a surprise.’

Yuzuru raises his hands, gesturing something that could be interpreting as he not being upset. A waiter comes to refill their glasses and he notices that Javier is gripping a little too hard on his flute.

‘Patrick, Patrick, you know how much I love your work and _Salvia_ would have been another abortion if it weren’t for you, but my loyalty is to Javier.’

‘I know,’ both man exchange a handshake, ‘it was a privilege to work with you. And with Yuzuru too. He is truly a diamond, with no imperfections and deep edges.’ Patrick raises his glass in Yuzuru’s direction and they cheer.

Javier raises his too. ‘You’re too kind my friend. You will always be _il massimo_.’

The hours have forgotten to walk and they have sprinted amidst glasses of champagne, rose wine from Patrick’s personal winery, a few autographs from middle-aged ladies and liters of exquisite (drunk) laughter. Javier is clearly flustered and shy about the mention of his insane stunts for the flawless landscape photo and his recent National Geographic prize. Yuzuru finds him gorgeous, with his long unruly curls over his forehead and he can’t take his eyes off him. Maybe he shouldn’t have sent him _Fuck you_ but _Fuck me_ instead. Blame the alcohol.

‘Yuzuru,’ Massimo drags the final vowel of his name a little longer, like a pouting child, ‘we miss your voice.’

‘What happened exactly at the photoshoot?’ Javier politely refuses another refill but Patrick does it anyway.

‘You should know that we don’t share secrets of our craft. But I can tell you he cried so much he lost his voice.’

‘Patrick has very skillful hands.’

‘Our Yuzuru is very sensitive.’

‘Oh really?’ Javier throws the most (fake) indignant glance at Yuzuru, as if he knew not the sweet moans he could coarse from his lips each time he stroked his length and licked the tip.

‘He’s very open to instructions. That would be great for porn.’

It was no secret that Massimo owned a porn studio, that his motion features were great successes all over the internet, and some of them had inclusive gained wide acclaim and took home a few AVN awards.

‘I’m still his manager so please send me all your work proposals.’

‘What kind of porn would you like to do Yuzuru? Nodding is fine. College setting? Sugar daddy? A cabaret dancer?’

‘How can you choose a theme without choosing the partner first?’

‘Right, which type do you prefer? Yes, just keep nodding. The cool, indifferent type like Patrick? A street thug with piercings? Or the hot-blooded Latino? I have sold myself million of times to our Javier but he insists in being the director of photography. Would Javier make a good partner?’

Yuzu keeps nodding, his inebriation dictating his thoughts (or lack of them) and Javier almost chokes on the wine. Suddenly all of them are discussing what to include or not in the script (Yuzuru can only choose but his neck is tired so he raises a fork for ‘yes’ and a rose from the floral arrangement at the center of the table for things he didn’t like). Patrick proposes an ice rink, Jeffrey says that the skin on one’s ass is too delicate and could easily be burnt (he denies personal experience), Javier says there is always the Zamboni (a rose), or the changing rooms (a fork).

‘Sex in the shower! I could promote _Salvia_ too! You’re a genius Javier!’

It is almost midnight when the manager of the hotel apologizes for his intrusion but the booking time is nearing its end and most guests have already left, not without leaving a rancid lipstick kiss on Yuzuru’s cheek. Patrick and Jeffrey decide to share a taxi for their own safety and Massimo leaves both Yuzuru and Javier at the lobby, his hiccoughs still possible to be heard on the lift.

‘So, doing a porn movie?’

Javier has a vague idea of how dilated his pupils are but Yuzuru’s irises glimmered even more and they were two black diamonds, worthy of a sum he could never pay in his life but that he knew they would be given to him if he asked for them.

‘Can’t you really speak?’

Yuzuru leans forward and opens his mouth. It is almost mute but it echoed in his ears. ‘ _Javi_.’

Damn, he would strip him and fuck him to oblivion if he could right there.

‘I want you Yuzuru. So much.’

Yuzuru takes out all the key cards people have slipped to his pockets and he arranges them like a hand of poker in front of Javier’s eyes, in the shape of a fan, as if telling him to choose a room.

‘We will go to _my_ room.’

 

 

The door of room 314 in the third floor had not yet closed and Javier had already pinned Yuzuru to the closest wall, their lips hungrily latched onto each other’s. There was the strong intoxicating taste of alcohol and grapes but also the syrupy chantilly cream and vanilla of the cheesecake they shared after dinner. Yuzuru is proficient at unbuttoning Javier’s shirt and his fingers soon scratch the heated skin, leaving trails of red as his cat nails grazed down his sternum.

‘I love your moans Yuzu but this is not bad. It’s like gagging you.’ He wipes away the cheap lipstick stains on Yuzuru’s face on his silk shirt and bites down hard on his collarbone. ‘Sensitive? Skillful hands? Did Patrick play with you?’ The younger man shakes his head in negation, his hands already pulling down the zipper of his pants. ‘Did Massimo? You were smiling like _that_ in that photo.’

He stops the interrogations when Yuzuru’s slips his hands down the waistband of his briefs, precum already wetting a spot on the fabric of his underwear, and he squeezes the shaft. Javier lets a strained whelp leave his lips, muffled by the flushed skin of Yuzuru’s nipples and he too strips him of his pants.

‘Did you play with yourself? In front of them? Did they hear you cry when you’re hard like now?’

Yuzuru’s voice is breathy, laced with desire and arousal, and he sees Javier smirk, knowing that he was being taunted. ‘ _Fuck you_.’

‘Fuck you, fuck me, let’s do it together.’ Javier carries him, bridal style, the veins on his arms coming to the surface of the skin, but their fall on bed is less graceful and he crouches on top of Yuzuru. A predator eyeing its meal as he lowers himself for another kiss.

‘Let’s be fair. I want you to beg me but you can’t talk, so I will not talk too.’

Yuzuru nods, tongue out already, impatiently waiting for contact. He trembles in of electrical lust and his hands tickle Javier, demanding him to hurry up. There is a silent moan when the older man sinks his body, his cock on Yuzuru’s mouth just as Javier was sucking on his and stretching his pucker. Their rhythm is always messy and uncoordinated, trying not to gag but wanting to swallow more, teeth teasing the slit and satin lips violated and swollen around the whole length. For someone who had lost his voice, all the carnal sounds Yuzuru’s body was making, the rubbing on the sheets, the hissing and slurping of the saliva, the strained breath, all these were an erotic melody to Javier and it drove him to the edge quicker than he thought, spilling his seed over the younger man’s chin and neck, coating his Adam’s apple. He too didn’t let a single drop of Yuzuru’s semen smear the sheets and drank of it, much better than the extravagant champagne they had earlier in the evening.

 

 

Fatigue and alcohol are definitely not a good combination and Javier is soon asleep. Yuzuru retrieves a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and the cold drink soothes his used throat. He notices a Polaroid camera on the night stand and snaps the moment. The colors on the squared film paper take a few minutes to change but it is as he wanted – Javier’s swollen lips and remnants of white in them, his eyes peacefully closed in a post-orgasmic sleep, his curls damp with sweat. Maybe he could be a photographer too in the future. He leaves the picture next to the camera, wipes off Javier’s essence running down on him and hugs him from behind, falling asleep almost instantly.

 

 

‘What photo is this?’

‘The last time I checked, it was still your face.’

‘When did you take it?’

‘Last week, after Massimo proposed we did a porn movie.’

‘Are you really doing it?’

‘Jeff emailed me the script last night. It sounds quite solid. The role of the Latino skater said he was especially fond of blowjobs. Massimo must have been inspired by this photo.’

‘Did you show it to him?’

Yuzuru shrugs his shoulders, his hands making a series of gestures about how his voice was lost. Javier pulls him to his lap with a loud thud and slaps one of his butt cheeks. Yuzuru laughs.

‘I really want to punish you.’

‘I’ve been a very _bad_ boy.’

 

 

_**Extra** _

How to make Yuzuru obedient (a recipe by Javier Fernández, proven not to have side effects)

_Directions:_

_1\. Rinse Yuzuru with kisses behind his ear, on his navel (ticklish spot) and his balls._

_2\. Put some sort of object into his mouth so he doesn’t cry too loud (he can and he will). A tie, a shirt, his own briefs, carefully not to hurt his delicate lips to heighten the intensity and pitch of the sensual moans. A precaution note on ropes and handcuffs as he might turn against his master._

_3\. Coat your fingers (sorry my fingers, yours not allowed), with strawberry lotion and insert one at a time (unless he asks for more at once) into his silken rim until you hit the prostate._

_4\. Remove the fingers (mine, not yours) and add a properly lubricated cock (toys allowed here)._

_5\. Add tension, propulsion from the knees and legs for a better angle shot and for more strength. Careful with his addicting ‘more’ Gregorian chants._

_6\. Drink of his essence while it’s still hot._

_7\. If the above doesn’t work, a good spanking session does wonders._

 

Serve with a slice of chocolate cake, lime cheesecake or strawberry pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salvia - 'sage' in Italian. Well, sage is an aromatic herb for quite a lot of dishes. Also, a 'sage' is someone who is well educated, cultured and erudite. Which happens to be the best name for a lingerie line xD
> 
> il massimo - the best (in Italian). It is supposed to be a pun on Massimo's name.


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